Hell Within -- Chapter Ten: The House of Lancaster -- Scenes 15&16
Mandy arrives at her father's house in the guise of being the new maid and finds herself in the middle of a crisis. Amy Eaton's lover is missing, and the police are questioning Amy.
-15-
Ben hung up the phone and sat back hard in the overstuffed leather chair behind the overdone desk in the master's study.
It was all set.
Tomorrow, he would get up early and tell Amy that he and Mandy were going into town to get her car fixed, and they would leave and arrive at Bridgeton University Hospital at 10:30 for the paternity test.
But Ben had a gut feeling about how it was going to come out, and he didn't know how to feel about it.
Out of nowhere came a tentative knock at the closed door to the octagonal room -- tentative in that it seemed that the person behind the door didn't know if he or she really wanted to talk.
"Come in." he said.
The door opened and Amy stepped inside closing the door.
"Where in the hell have you been? I've been worried sick."
"They kept me a long time."
"No shit?"
Amy stepped over and sat down behind the desk. If Ben didn't know better, he'd assume she had something really heavy she wanted to discuss.
She took a deep breath and looked out the window behind him.
"What's up?"
She licked her lips and looked down at her lap.
"You were right about me."
Ben frowned and sat back. "What?"
"I've -- had an affair."
Ben nodded. Just now there were so many emotions flowing through him that he didn't know which one to react to first. His hands clenched into fists beneath the table. He felt himself growing lightheaded as if he were about to pass out.
She looked up at him. "It wasn't the first time."
"Who?" Ben said, as calmly as he could, but the room didn't quite seem real anymore. In fact, his voice sounded like someone else's.
"Does it matter?" she said.
Ben looked away from her.
"Don't do that," she said. "This is your fault, too."
Ben laughed. Whatever bad humor had possessed him was relenting a bit now. "How do you figure that?"
"Living with you is more lonely than being alone sometimes. You get into a funk and you don't even talk for days. Sometimes, you just disappear all together."
He smirked. "And you don't?"
She nodded and bit her lip.
Ben stood up rubbed his hand through his hair and looked out the window.
"So what does all of this have to do with Dick?"
She looked down at her hands. She was playing with the hem of her shirt, and something about the gravity of the situation made it impossible for her to give voice to the answer.
"Goddamnit Amy," he screamed raking everything off the top of the desk into the floor.
She recoiled.
The strangeness was returning. Ben covered his eyes and turned away from her.
She didn't say anything for the longest time.
He didn't dare look at her for fear that he might loose control of his emotions.
And finally she stood and walked around the desk and stood beside him.
"I don't want to fight," she said. "I want to know if there's anyway that we can put this back together."
Ben's mouth fell open. He glared at her.
"Put it back together!"
She took a step back away from him.
He took a deep breath and turned away. Neither of them said anything for a long time, and Ben was glad. This was more than he could take. He wanted to be alone right now.
"Ben, I know you don't want to hear it, right now, but I've been horrible to you. For what it's worth, I'm sorry.
He looked down at his feet.
"It seems like everyone in your life that you've ever cared about has ended up screwing you in the end accept your grandparents, and they didn't live long enough. I think all of that has really screwed you up."
Hot tears collected in his eyes. His chin started twitching. He turned away from her out of shame.
"I think we both need help."
"Why?" Ben said. He wanted to say more, but his voice would crack. And he didn't want to show weakness.
Her arms were around him now. He felt the hard and hot imprint of her head against his back. He didn't want her to touch him, but he didn't want to screw this up either.
Helpless.
He released a long shuddering breath.
"Whatever," he said finally, his voice cracking. "Just don't. . . ."
"I promise," she said. "I won't hurt you again."
-16-
His name hadn't referred to a living person in well over two hundred years.
He'd wasted his life afraid of what others might do.
There was nothing malign about Henry Lancaster, the man. In fact, he was dreadfully shy most of his life, but kind when the opportunity presented itself.
But because of his infirmity, the entire superstitious lot of them took one look and thought him evil. Most of his life in England, he couldn't even find work or rent a room. He had to duck into alleys during the daylight to avoid the fire of the sun.
But he wasn't afraid anymore.
Death had given him unimaginable strength.
And now, a new mortal coil.
As an incarnated immortal, his path was clear -- to wreak the wrath of creation on the wicked and those who would harm his own.
The body that lay before him -- naked and on his back with his pale arms drooping over the sides of the wooden altar in the ruins of the church -- was one such transgressor. He had coupled with a married woman -- the wife of one of his own.
Henry had not intended to kill him.
Men have a weaker will than women where that kind of indiscretion is concerned, and the woman had sinned more -- in that she was married and the man was not.
His purpose was merely to punish him in a manner that he would not soon forget -- a method that was much more lenient than that of most of his contemporaries.
He had taken great pains during the atonement, or unmanning rather, to keep the man alive. He had restrained him with rope, and force-fed him wine until the man was thoroughly intoxicated. Then he removed the man's garments and sterilized his genitals with liquor. Once preparations were finished, he carefully removed the man's secrets with the sharpest blade he could find and cauterized the wound with fire and dressed it with soft linens.
Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.
But the soul of the man had been so adulterated that it had not been able to withstand the purification, and had flown.
Henry eyed the inscription carved in the face of the altar overlooking what was once the pews of the church.
"Do This in Remembrance of Me," he uttered.
And he smiled at the duplicity of the statement.
Then he hoisted the body up on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and lugged it off to its final resting place.
(Coming Soon Chapter Eleven: The Whore)
Ben hung up the phone and sat back hard in the overstuffed leather chair behind the overdone desk in the master's study.
It was all set.
Tomorrow, he would get up early and tell Amy that he and Mandy were going into town to get her car fixed, and they would leave and arrive at Bridgeton University Hospital at 10:30 for the paternity test.
But Ben had a gut feeling about how it was going to come out, and he didn't know how to feel about it.
Out of nowhere came a tentative knock at the closed door to the octagonal room -- tentative in that it seemed that the person behind the door didn't know if he or she really wanted to talk.
"Come in." he said.
The door opened and Amy stepped inside closing the door.
"Where in the hell have you been? I've been worried sick."
"They kept me a long time."
"No shit?"
Amy stepped over and sat down behind the desk. If Ben didn't know better, he'd assume she had something really heavy she wanted to discuss.
She took a deep breath and looked out the window behind him.
"What's up?"
She licked her lips and looked down at her lap.
"You were right about me."
Ben frowned and sat back. "What?"
"I've -- had an affair."
Ben nodded. Just now there were so many emotions flowing through him that he didn't know which one to react to first. His hands clenched into fists beneath the table. He felt himself growing lightheaded as if he were about to pass out.
She looked up at him. "It wasn't the first time."
"Who?" Ben said, as calmly as he could, but the room didn't quite seem real anymore. In fact, his voice sounded like someone else's.
"Does it matter?" she said.
Ben looked away from her.
"Don't do that," she said. "This is your fault, too."
Ben laughed. Whatever bad humor had possessed him was relenting a bit now. "How do you figure that?"
"Living with you is more lonely than being alone sometimes. You get into a funk and you don't even talk for days. Sometimes, you just disappear all together."
He smirked. "And you don't?"
She nodded and bit her lip.
Ben stood up rubbed his hand through his hair and looked out the window.
"So what does all of this have to do with Dick?"
She looked down at her hands. She was playing with the hem of her shirt, and something about the gravity of the situation made it impossible for her to give voice to the answer.
"Goddamnit Amy," he screamed raking everything off the top of the desk into the floor.
She recoiled.
The strangeness was returning. Ben covered his eyes and turned away from her.
She didn't say anything for the longest time.
He didn't dare look at her for fear that he might loose control of his emotions.
And finally she stood and walked around the desk and stood beside him.
"I don't want to fight," she said. "I want to know if there's anyway that we can put this back together."
Ben's mouth fell open. He glared at her.
"Put it back together!"
She took a step back away from him.
He took a deep breath and turned away. Neither of them said anything for a long time, and Ben was glad. This was more than he could take. He wanted to be alone right now.
"Ben, I know you don't want to hear it, right now, but I've been horrible to you. For what it's worth, I'm sorry.
He looked down at his feet.
"It seems like everyone in your life that you've ever cared about has ended up screwing you in the end accept your grandparents, and they didn't live long enough. I think all of that has really screwed you up."
Hot tears collected in his eyes. His chin started twitching. He turned away from her out of shame.
"I think we both need help."
"Why?" Ben said. He wanted to say more, but his voice would crack. And he didn't want to show weakness.
Her arms were around him now. He felt the hard and hot imprint of her head against his back. He didn't want her to touch him, but he didn't want to screw this up either.
Helpless.
He released a long shuddering breath.
"Whatever," he said finally, his voice cracking. "Just don't. . . ."
"I promise," she said. "I won't hurt you again."
-16-
His name hadn't referred to a living person in well over two hundred years.
He'd wasted his life afraid of what others might do.
There was nothing malign about Henry Lancaster, the man. In fact, he was dreadfully shy most of his life, but kind when the opportunity presented itself.
But because of his infirmity, the entire superstitious lot of them took one look and thought him evil. Most of his life in England, he couldn't even find work or rent a room. He had to duck into alleys during the daylight to avoid the fire of the sun.
But he wasn't afraid anymore.
Death had given him unimaginable strength.
And now, a new mortal coil.
As an incarnated immortal, his path was clear -- to wreak the wrath of creation on the wicked and those who would harm his own.
The body that lay before him -- naked and on his back with his pale arms drooping over the sides of the wooden altar in the ruins of the church -- was one such transgressor. He had coupled with a married woman -- the wife of one of his own.
Henry had not intended to kill him.
Men have a weaker will than women where that kind of indiscretion is concerned, and the woman had sinned more -- in that she was married and the man was not.
His purpose was merely to punish him in a manner that he would not soon forget -- a method that was much more lenient than that of most of his contemporaries.
He had taken great pains during the atonement, or unmanning rather, to keep the man alive. He had restrained him with rope, and force-fed him wine until the man was thoroughly intoxicated. Then he removed the man's garments and sterilized his genitals with liquor. Once preparations were finished, he carefully removed the man's secrets with the sharpest blade he could find and cauterized the wound with fire and dressed it with soft linens.
Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.
But the soul of the man had been so adulterated that it had not been able to withstand the purification, and had flown.
Henry eyed the inscription carved in the face of the altar overlooking what was once the pews of the church.
"Do This in Remembrance of Me," he uttered.
And he smiled at the duplicity of the statement.
Then he hoisted the body up on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and lugged it off to its final resting place.
(Coming Soon Chapter Eleven: The Whore)
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